An Agent For All Seasons

As Bond, he's a clean-cut collation of calm and cool. The man behind the tux - well, not so much. And that's a good thing.

- Richard Clune

 

"You fuck one lousy pig!” To be clear, Daniel Craig’s simply dipped into bag of rarely used British idioms – there’s certain been no muddy hanky-panky with a swine. Bent forward and chuckling heartily at his own words, Craig fails to complete the expression, which apparently goes: Forever a pig fucker you’ll be.

It wasn’t quite what we’d expected to hear from the mouth of the best Bond since Connery (fact).

He’s meant to be a churlish “actore” – a prick; a grump. He’s meant to view those carrying dictaphones as the enemy, ever wary of his words and far from garrulous. Yet here, on a scorching English day in a sunny London hotel suite, Craig’s picking off such misconceptions with each utterance and a general ease of character.

“Water?” he enquires upon sitting down, before reaching across the low wooden coffee table and pouring a glass of still for GQ.

The casual mood is matched by his attire – tight navy bomber over a light chambray shirt and nondescript jeans rolled up over grey desert boots. Craig laughs a lot, and often at his own expense. Then there’s his northern vernacular – a rapid-fire volley of fucks that would leave Ron Jeremy breathless. It’s refreshing. And comforting. For all the reputed loftiness, Craig turns out to be an easygoing Brit. Sure, he doesn’t suffer fools, but then, fools should rightly be rumbled. As for his approach t the press: cue that pig.

“Anyone who enjoys this process has a screw loose,” he says of the enforced interviews attached to being an actor, specifically Bond. This morning, he’s already engaged with the obscure questioning that comes from round tables packed with global press where, alongside some pointed dissection of his work, questions are often framed around the superficial: stunts, fitness, Connery.